Insomnia
by Shi Feng Huang
Summary: pointless waff


I yawn and stretch my arms for the hundredth time. Gosh! Why can't that damned sleep come to me these days? I'd go for some sleeping pills if Tofu wasn't our family' doctor. I'd never hear the end of it, I guess he even refuses to give those kind of medicines. and I don' know if I could just settle for some stupid tea. It's a pity I'll never get to learn any sleep pressure point or some shiatsu crap for relax. Clumsy as I am, I'd probably mess with something serious. And yoga doesn't sound that attractive to me either.  
  
Since I've changed my position for the umpteenth time and it didn't get me anywhere, perhaps I should consider using another approach. I can find myself wriggling my eyebrows in a sarcastic fashion. Looks like I'm planning some kind of battle.  
  
Then I get serious, feeling some pressure in my chest. I'm indeed planning a battle. Against myself.  
  
No. I'm not planning my suicide. It's much more serious than that. I just have to face myself in the middle of a bleak, cold spring night. And that's why I can't sleep.  
  
Is my life so complicated to keep me awake, doing this kind of psychobabble? I'm not even sure. Perhaps weird would be better to describe it.  
  
The life of a teenager, in her last year of high school doesn't sound so exciting. or weird.  
  
But add an arranged and unwilling fiancée, who has a curse that turns him into a gorgeous red-haired girl, who has two other beautiful and skilled fiancés after him for various reasons, a cursed father (in more ways than one) that turns into a panda, I have some suitors of my own I have no interest for and there are zillions of enemies after my fiancée and ready to take me as bait every single time they battle and maybe you'll see the picture a bit clearer now.  
  
Sometimes I wonder why I am putting up with all this crap, hence the insomnia.  
  
Take this morning for example. Kasumi tried to teach me to cook some miso soup. My dear sister seems to detect every single moment when I'm ready to yell at the world "I won't cook anymore!" (to the great joy of my dear fiancée) and twist my will with her calm smile so I try one more time. Just to get it wrong. Again.  
  
And then my oh-so-dear fiancée picks his line, insulting my cooking. Quite frankly, I know I suck at it (except for curry), but does he have to announce it to the whole country?  
  
So between the frustration I get from my failure to produce something barely edible and his insults, I get steamed enough to use my energy to save gas for the kitchen or to propel him into LEO.  
  
I don't know why, but the second option always manages to restore my adrenaline levels to normality so he gets a nice trip via Mallet Airlines.  
  
I manage a small smile at the thought. Some volatile relationship we have, isn't it? I'm not sure we could call it a relationship either. At least not the typical between a couple. I mean, we fight most of the time, we insult each other, I hit him a lot. yeah, I get the hitting role, he's too much of a knight to hit a girl.  
  
I don't know if I just tasted sarcasm?  
  
Try to understand me, it's not that I like being hit, I'm not Kuno (and I'm glad about it), but I wish he'd fight back when we're sparring at least. There's this difference about violence inside the dojo and physical abuse. The first, I could tolerate, to a certain point, obviously, I know I'm not Ryoga either.  
  
So why do I worry if he hits me or not? I guess it has to do with respect. When he refuses to fight me, he undervalues my already scarce skills. And it bugs me. A lot. Coming from a family of martial artist and having trained on my own for years, I'd wish people would take me seriously and have a little respect. And fight me. And teach me. But oh, no, because I'm a clumsy tomboy, who can't kick.  
  
Oh, no, that damned Tomboy Song again. I guess I heard it so many times it gets stuck in my brain, like those stupid tunes you hear on the radio and can't get out of your head. But geez, my own brain.  
  
I sigh. Watching the ceiling isn't a very interesting sport at this time of night. My clock sings two in the morning and still there's no trace of sleep. And once I get down this road of self pity, I know for sure I won't get any.  
  
Sigh. I get up and head for the kitchen. Maybe some hot milk will do the trick. Rest assured, I'm perfectly capable of heating some milk without burning the kitchen. I almost gave Ranma's mom a heart attack, but I finally got the drill.  
  
I ride the fridge and the cupboard, looking for some cookies to go with the milk. Kasumi made some cinnamon and ginger cookies, most probably to make me forget about the miso soup. She knows they're my favourites, just as chocolate are Nabiki's. Ranma eats almost everything. Depending on his father for food must have been an awful experience. No wonder they fight over every bread crumb. Just have a look at how he got to know Ryoga.  
  
I get the milk out of the microwave and blow on it to let it cool. As I dip the cookies in the milk, I go through the thinking I've been doing these last 30 minutes. Damn. I forgot my main motto. "Never mix thoughts and food". That wonderful cookies taste of frustration right now.  
  
I take the milk down in one gulp and get up. It will take some time before it does any good so I might as well have a look at the stars. It's something I picked when my mother was still alive. The summer nights would be spent under the porch, with some iced tea and fruit at hand, my mom holding me in her lap and we'd do that stargazing thing for hours.  
  
I stopped wondering a few years ago why she had to die so young. Not that it doesn't hurt to accept she's gone, mind you. It's just a silent pain, always there, it's a part of me. Most of the time I just pretend I don't remember about it.  
  
Okay, I'd better change track. If I get to think too much about mom, I'll start wondering what would have happened if she was still alive and I'm not in the mood for that kind of daydreaming. or late night dreaming, I should say.  
  
Back to stargazing, there are some good memories of Ranma and me doing this. Actually, one of the few occasions when we actually managed to get along. Like last Christmas, when we were watching the meteor show in the balcony and he put his arm on my shoulder. And smiled.  
  
Sigh. He has some wonderful gorgeous smile. If he'd just shut up his big mouth and smiled more, I think we could get along a lot better.  
  
Yeah, right. And what would I be doing? Clobber him for getting all his other fiancés swooning over him, I guess.  
  
Perhaps I should add a desert island and no one else in sight. Provided that he stuck to keeping his mouth shut and all, I think we could even survive a few days. Realistic, am I?  
  
Oh, you know, you can't live on smiles all the time.  
  
Huge sigh. No sleep on the horizon. Great. I rub my eyes and scratch my hair. I pick a bunch of loose hairs. Too bad I'm losing a lot this spring. I guess I should help Kasumi with the cleaning.  
  
Should I drink some more milk? Better not. I'll go straight to bed and pick some random book and hope it's boring enough to send me to sleep. Next time I'll ask 'biki for some of her economy books in exchange for using my clothes. It's time I get something out of her.  
  
I trudge up the stairs and down the corridor. There's some noise coming from Ranma's room, most probably his father sawing logs. Lucky him. I feel the compelling desire to kick him. It's not fair he's ____ like that when I have to count past the million sheep before I get something resembling a single yawn.  
  
Just when I'm ready to barge in and whack him for good, I heard something else.  
  
A moan.  
  
If my blood was already near boiling point now it's reaching the point of sublimation. I feel my cheeks burning like a nuclear fision core.  
  
'Ranmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!' That damned chinese hussy must have sneaked into his room again.  
  
I yanked the door open, ready to make the perfect Demon Head Attack on the couple f perverts ahead. I already felt my aura burning up and shape into a huge drangon head when I notice two little things.  
  
1. Genma is not even there, let alone Shampoo.  
  
2. Ranma is all alone and shaking, some strangle noises coming from him  
  
I was ready to bite his head and let my anger take care of all when I heard him scream. It was more like a shrieck, really  
  
"No, Pop, don't wanna go in there, they're scratching me." He moved his arms over his head, like blocking some attack.  
  
" hate cats, hate cats, hate cats." and so on.  
  
With a 'pop' the demon head disappears and I feel my heart beating a notch or two slower. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.  
  
I never knew Ranma had nightmares about his training in the Nekoken. Oh, I knew he sometimes had nightmares, I mean, we have been awaken in the middle of the night one too many times by some unhuman scream and ran to his room while dreading if he was still alive or not. It was always Kasumi who did the soothing thing and calm him down. Most of the times, he'd just turn everyone down and said it was nothing. This was his usual macho jerk attitude after all. He's just faced the window, his back to us and pretend everything was ok. Ok, my ass. I stayed most of those times by the door and watching his back heaving, trying to catch his breath back. I was always tempted to run to him and say "everything will be fine" and the typical babbling. But then, I knew he wouldn't take it. I cursed him macho pride, but who was I to blame him? I did just the same when it was my turn.  
  
I was drawn back to reality by his whimperings. It looked like the nightmare was escalating into full fear-and-tear. I knelt by his side and caressed his forehead, then his hair. I caught his arm and wrestled with him to keep him quiet. Boy, was I wrong. He nearly sent me to the pond. I managed to keep a hold on his wrist so I wouldn't fly into the garden, but I caught a nice bump when I was smashed into the wall.  
  
Fine, another window pane broken. Nabiki is going to kill me. Oh, well, it's Ranma's fault, I'll try to put it in his tab. I just hope it works (cross my fingers).  
  
I rub my head while cursing him. I drop his had and try to steady myself. I think I know now what it feels like when I do that with him. Of course, his head is a tad bit harder than mine. It hurts, nonetheless.  
  
I'll try to remember next time and be a bit gentler. Not too much, I'm sure it's good for his training or he'd find a way to stop me. It's not like he can't avoid my blows. C'mon, it's like comparing the Wrigth's plane with a B-52.  
  
It's funny I can admit my lacking skills whenever I get this self-pity sessions. I shake my head and try to get back to this mothering task of keeping the nightmare away. Looks like force won't do any good.  
  
Sigh. I caress his cheek with one hand and his hair with the other. At first, he tries to block my hands.  
  
"Ranma, it's ok, the cats are gone". I whisper in his ear. He turns his head to me like he's trying to listen. "Ranma, everything's going to be fine". Yeah, right. Why do I have the sensation that I sound stupid?  
  
I ruffle his hair, my left hand still on his cheek. He looks a bit calmer now, but he's still shaking slightly. I rub behind his ear and neck and he makes some strange noise. With the moonlight shining high and lighting his features, I can't stop but look at his hair. Jet black, silky, luscious hair. I'm seized by the idea of loosening his eternal pigtail and ran my fingers through it. Before I have the time to think about it, I've already taken the Dragon's whisker away and thread his hair. Its effect might have run out but he still keeps it. I smile at the remembrance of this little adventure with those Nikuman bald-head society. His hair loose reaching the floor and moving with the wind. It gave him a. wild air, like some force of nature. Oh, God, he looked so damned good!!!  
  
I feel my cheeks burning again. I feel my lips twisting into a little smile and go back to caress his cheek, while moving his head into my lap. He curls into a tiny ball, just like a kitten and rubs his cheek against my thigh. I must be honoring my name by now.  
  
He looks like a little child, snoring softly. He looks so. vulnerable. It makes me feel warm inside, just knowing that I finally managed to do something right for him. The clumsy tomboy actually got it right just once. Even if he wouldn't know, would't remember the next morning or ever, I actually helped him.  
  
And it feels good, specially after my former trip to self-pity land.  
  
I may not be able to cook, can't fight my way out of a paper bag or have a less than femenine attitude, but I kept him away from his nightmares tonight. And you just can't imagine how much it boosts my ego.  
  
Yawn. How come his room is warmer than mine? Never mind. I shake my head, looks like Morpheus has decided to come and pay me a little visit. But I can't stay here, can I? Yawn. My hand is still tangled in his hair. I like the feeling of his hair sliding through my fingers, like they belong just there. But they don't, right? Right. what? My eyelids feel like lead. I should be leaving by now and go to bed. I should. 


End file.
